A Series of Firsts
by Teobi
Summary: One-shot companion piece to 'You Had One Job, Mr. Lovejoy' told from Brighid Murphy's POV, from their first meeting on Titanic up to their first intimate moments aboard Carpathia. Rated M.


Author's Note: Brighid Murphy is my OC from 'You Had One Job, Mr Lovejoy'. This is an M Rated companion piece to that fic.

 **A Series of Firsts**

 _First Meeting_

Aye, but I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. There was something about him as he came down the stairs. The light behind him gave him an aura, and people moved out of the way. He was like a King.

The girls didn't see him until he got near the bottom but my eyes had followed him all the way. Never had I known a man with such presence. His face was like stone. His eyes glittered. He was sharp and shrewd and I changed in that instant. I didn't know the man from Adam, but suddenly there was hope. This tall, mysterious stranger burst through thoughts of Steafán like a conquering hero.

Do ye detect a pattern of thought here? I thought this man was quite a specimen.

He reached the bottom of the stairs. I needed courage so I alerted the girls. It didn't take much to get them going. One of them whistled long and loud to get his attention and then I made my clumsy, drunken move. I said the first thing that came to mind- ' _ye need a drink_ ' or something to that effect. The look he gave me was fierce. As if I was a piece of shite stuck to his shoe. I'd never seen such disgust. He towered over me, glaring down, the top of his head brushed with light, his greying hair burnished with gold. Dust swirled around him, the dirt and skin cells of the great unwashed. He didn't belong in Third Class and well he knew it.

He called me a miserable wench and my insides turned to jelly. I heard not his words, only his voice. It came out of him as a surprise- a deep, rich, haughty voice, laced with absolute and utter disdain. And I fell in love with him, completely.

The menfolk, alerted by the presence of a tall, dominant male, bristled like bees around us. I didn't want the atmosphere to get hostile- I wanted this stranger to stay. I used the crowd as an excuse to get close, to feel the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, to smell the clean air of First Class above the aroma of armpits and alcohol. He was scrubbed and clean shaven, his hair was neatly cut. What we called a 'short back and sides'. I longed to touch it.

A glass was pushed into his hand. He sniffed it and pulled a face. I'm certain to this day that he knew what it was but he wanted to distance himself from us, to shun our food and drink, to refuse our loutish hospitality. But he drank it anyway, and soon as he did, he transformed. His eyes flickered into life, muscles in his face that he probably hadn't used in years pulled his lips into a distorted grin. I don't know if he was briefly living a distant memory or he just liked the taste of potato wine. But he took another, and then another. He looked at me again and there was a devilish spark in his eye where there was nigh revulsion before. I knew then and there I was in with a chance, but I'd have to tread carefully. (Which is hard when you're up to your eyeballs in drink).

The fourth shot brought beads of sweat to his brow. He tugged his tie loose and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. His immaculate hair fell forward. His grin was wide as a mile. We girls prodded and poked him, dragging him across the room to dance.

And then he spotted her. The beautiful satin-skinned goddess with flowing red hair who had come to join us from the upper classes. I admit that I felt a pang of jealousy. She was much younger than me and already had the attentions of the blond boy and several other men who were dazzled by her elegance. I watched 'my man' advance towards her with arms open. Then I noticed she was terrified of him. I wondered why. Sure he was dour and imposing but what could there be in him to provoke such extreme fear?

Her fear went away as he grabbed her and began waltzing. Her eyes bulged open as he spun her around. She obviously knew him. I realised he had come for her. Perhaps he was her guardian. I went and joined in. He let her loose and grabbed me instead. His hands were firm on either side of my waist. I thought I would go into shock with the feelings he gave me.

He pulled me close with one arm, laced our fingers together with the other. I felt him all the way down- the buttons on his vest, the buckle of his belt. I needn't go on. He waltzed me round and around but I was already dizzy from the start. His hand briefly touched my bottom as he let me go and turned to another. He'd not done it on purpose. He just didn't know what or where his hands were or what they were doing.

The redhaired girl, her name was Rose, let down her guard and started to laugh. She found him hilarious with his long arms and legs trying to do a jig. She put her hand over her mouth while her cheeks went red. She had obviously never seen him like this before. The blond boy, Jack, held her protectively close. I was mad curious about the three of them and what they knew of each other.

I made sure I danced with himself again. I grabbed him off one of my friends and once again I was treated to his gaze. His eyes were pale blue and now rather glassy. He was probably seeing two of me. He had no co-ordination for another waltz but what he lacked in grace he made up for with enthusiasm. His fingers dug into my waist and hips. I relished every point of pressure. He bent over me and for one exalted moment I thought we might kiss. But he was only attempting to dip me. We stumbled like ungainly mules before he miraculously righted himself and then pulled me backwards the other way. By then I was spinning out of control. He could have taken me right there if he wanted.

I asked his name. There was so much music and noise. He shouted back, I couldn't hear what he said. I shouted at him to repeat it. Lovejoy, he yelled. Something Lovejoy. His voice was just as commanding raised a notch in excitement as it was when dismissing me with a grunt. I couldn't get enough.

The night was too short for my liking. Mr. Lovejoy was a novelty to be passed around and he made the most of it, dancing with everyone. I was envious of every hand that touched him, every eye that met his. I wanted to be every woman in his arms that night, and every woman he had ever known. I wanted to be his one. But how could I be, when I couldn't even hold onto Steafán, my childhood sweetheart?

Steafán MacKenna had been tall and blond, so maybe that was the initial attraction, but I didn't have a 'type'. It was the eyes that did for me, and Mr. Lovejoy's eyes were like magnets, drawing me in. He had a pleasing enough face. A little lined and rugged, but with a firm jaw, straight nose, expressive mouth and more than a hint of youthfulness around the neck and shoulders.

In short, I thought he was lovely. Steafán MacKenna, God rest his soul, was suddenly at the back of my thoughts.

I won't bore you with a sob story. Steafán and I had a torrid 'fling' before he met my sister Rosemary and properly fell in love. It's not hard to see why. She was the exact opposite of me. Quiet and well mannered. Not coarse, like I am. She was fairer all over, and even I had to admit she and Steafán were well suited. They married and had a child, Michael. I kept my counsel but in private, I cried. I could not get past the thought that he should have been mine. There was no resulting pregnancy from the times that we'd made love. He was my first, and you never forget your first. No other man interested me, no other man at all. I went with a few, just for the craic, just to see what would happen, but my heart wasn't in it. Steafán was the one for me and I'd lost him. But then Rosemary lost him too. He died along with several other men after a building they were working on collapsed. It was devastating for all of us.

Rosemary and Michael were on board the Titanic. (Steafán had family in America; she and Michael was going to see them. I didn't want to be left behind with my memories so I came along at the last minute without any plans at all for what I would do when I got there.) After the party I went straight to their cabin to blurt out my feelings, not caring that I reeked of alcohol and tobacco. They shared the space with several other women and children all in various states of wakefulness. Nobody minded the commotion- by that time there were drunks singing in the corridors and men laughing like donkeys over the slightest thing. I told her I'd fallen madly in love. She had beautiful copper hair that shimmered in the slice of light coming through the door. My 10 year old nephew Michael had the same colour hair. He rustled in the bed beside her, grumbling that we were keeping him awake. He looked just like Steafán, which is why I adored him. As Rosemary was my sister, so little Michael had some of me running through his veins and that was better than nothing.

I described Mr. Lovejoy as best I could. Rosemary's smile turned doubtful when I said he came down from First Class 'like an angel descending from Heaven'. That was the drink talking. But still. I felt that way. Despite his granite face and bitter mood, Mr. Lovejoy walked down those stairs right into my dried up old heart, and set it beating again.

But ye know, some people are destined for tragedy, and I believe the MacKennas were cursed. Either that or Steafán wanted his wife and child with him- because I lost them both as the ship went down. My grip wasn't strong enough. All those years ago I couldn't hold Steafán, and now I couldn't hold Rosemary and I couldn't hold Michael. I just wasn't strong enough.

Events of that night have blurred into one jumbled memory of screaming and crying, being in a trance from the bitter cold and frantically searching for my loved ones. I was thrown into a boat by unseen hands and lowered into the hostile ocean that was littered with people and bodies and pieces of the ship. Things were out of place and very frightening. Deck chairs were not supposed to be floating. Passengers were not supposed to be corpses. Great ships were not meant to sink.

Yet somehow I was alive.

I knew without a shadow of doubt that Mr. Lovejoy was still on the ship somewhere. I was losing everyone. My thoughts were all over the place. Surely Rosemary and Michael would be found and put in a boat. Surely someone would have mercy on a lone woman and child. I screamed their names but my voice was no louder than anyone else's. Everyone was screaming. Even the ship was screaming as she tore into pieces. The ocean shook with underwater explosions. The lifeboat rocked and no one believed they were safe from harm.

And the cold. God in heaven, the cold seeped into our bones through our wet clothes and skin and we trembled from the inside out. The cold would get us even if we survived the shipwreck. Who knew how long we'd be drifting out there in the freezing air. Someone put their arms around me as I sobbed. It wasn't anyone I knew.

When I saw him again it was on our rescue ship, the Carpathia. I was bedraggled and freezing cold with my hair in tangles down my back. A sight for sore eyes, I don't think so! I was desperately searching for familiar faces. I couldn't lose hope, not yet. Not while people were still coming aboard. I looked around and there he was. That tall, belligerent bastard had made it through alive. My heart did a cartwheel on its own- I was not in command of my feelings where Mr. Lovejoy was concerned.

He came over to me and we talked. I stayed calm even with a hammering heart. He was wringing wet, his lips as blue as his eyes. His hair was plastered to his head, which bore a nasty cut. His face was gaunt and grey. He looked like he'd died and come back. Maybe he had. I didn't like to ask.

He leaned on the guardrail, close to defeat. He did recognize me, thank God. I'd have felt stupid if he hadn't. There was no drunken flirting this time. Here was this man, alive against all the odds, and Rosemary would never meet him. I had lost hope of ever seeing them again. My beautiful, copper haired sister and Steafán's handsome son. An entire family of three gone from this Earth, reunited in Heaven. I think I was in shock and remained so for a while.

But Mr. Lovejoy consoled me. He didn't need to speak, just his presence was enough to reassure me. I didn't feel he'd denied anyone else a chance to survive. I was glad that he was alive. It was as simple as that. He was here at the rail with me, and something said it was meant to be.

And that was how we became friends. Out of necessity.

 _First Kiss_

If I'd had my way we would have kissed while we danced. I think how narrowly we both survived- me a Third Class nobody and he a First Class valet, nether should have taken priority over anyone else. But we lived, and were thankful for it. Every time our eyes met, I wanted to kiss him. And when we did, it was I who initiated the kiss. I could have waited a long time otherwise!

I don't think he'd kissed anyone for a very long time. He seemed hesitant. He tried to dodge the subject altogether but he was thinking along the same lines as I. (Ye can protest all ye like, Spicer. I'd already learned to read your face like a map.) We were sitting out on the deck. It was cold but not bitter. We had brandy and blankets. His hair ruffled in the wind, thicker now without all that shite that men put on their heads. His eyes were crinkled against the salt, narrow slits of blue glinting at me like chips of ice. Some people age through tragedy, this man dropped a few years and looked younger. Don't ask me how that happened. Spicer is a bag of mystery.

We were people-watching and talking about life in general. But there was tension atween us, the feeling that we were putting off what we both wanted. As though a kiss hung in front of us, waiting to be claimed. I knew it was going to happen, but he was not to be rushed. He was thinking deep thoughts, his eyes flitting here and there. The man has a restless soul, a constant feeling that he ought to be somewhere else. I knew by then he'd been a bodyguard and a detective. He was always on his toes, even when sitting down.

I took my chance as soon as there was a lull in conversation. He was looking at me with an expression of need. I leaned towards him just a smidgen and he leaned to me at the same time. My eyes drifted shut and finally I felt his lips on mine.

He was careful. His mouth was closed, mine was slightly open. It felt like he was merely resting his face against me, ready to take a nap or something. The kiss was a thing that came into being of its own accord- neither of us forced our will on the other. Gradually his lips softened, allowed mine to caress gently. There was no pressure from him- none at all.

His hand came to my face and mine went to his neck. I felt his pulse against my thumb, strong and fast. He might have made a small sound, or perhaps that was me. We were lost in our own world, the same feelings coursing from one to the other through all points of contact.

Turns out he was no slouch at kissing. When we finally parted I could still feel his lips and it took me a while to get focused on the sights and sounds that flooded back in. His face wavered into view, still close, his eyes heavy as they looked at my mouth. I knew what he was thinking.

But there was not another kiss. He laid his head on the back of his chair and fell silent. Meanwhile, I tingled from head to foot and could hardly make sense of anything. I don't even think I felt this way with Steafán, although it's hard to conjure feelings out of memories and I was so much younger then. Love when you're young is rampant and unbridled, just ask Rose and Jack. But there was no way I could throw myself at Spicer. I was still so aware of the class differences and had to make sure he was receptive. The last thing a man like Spicer wants is a blowsy slattern molesting him against his will!

He went off to get brandy and sweets and to hide his feelings. I pulled his topcoat to my face and breathed deeply. The scent of your man is more intoxicating than any liquor- I filled my lungs with it.

Dear Steafán. I remember that day by the stream at the edge of the meadow. The sun filtering through the trees, the chuckling water. I remember how beautiful I thought you were. I remember being nervous but not frightened. I knew you wouldn't hurt me and you didn't. It was a day I will never, ever forget.

But I can't live in the past. Not any more. Rosemary and Michael are with you now. Your family is complete and I'm on the outside again, and more fool me for the games I played. I didn't know you craved stability.

And now I crave it too.

 _First intimacy_

I found Spicer the best pair of shoes I could possibly find and his face when he saw them was priceless. He thought I'd stolen them off a rich man's feet! I was proud of myself for judging the right size and color to suit a man of his standing and the clothes he wore. I would have brought him a whole new wardrobe if he'd asked. I'd have fetched oysters and caviar. But a pair of shoes was what he needed so I put my soul into getting him the best.

Spicer's legs and feet had taken a battering from the cold. He was brave about it but we could see he was in pain. Still, as soon as those shoes were on, he looked dressed to kill. He stood up and walked around the cabin. I'd done well, he said. Perfect fit. I felt a swell of pride. My instincts had been right. I took it as further sign that we were meant to be together.

But Spicer and 'the children' had something to show me. The Heart of The Ocean, the prettiest diamond I'd ever seen. No wonder they were hiding from Mr. Hockley. They were holding onto treasure they weren't sure they owned. Apparently it was a present for Rose before she dumped the man. Truth be told if I were he I'd want it back too. But I wasn't on his side. I was loyal to Spicer and would have done whatever he asked.

They let me try it on. Rose fastened it around my neck and I almost died. I was wearing something like twenty million dollars around my throat. Spicer's eyes took on that dark, fathomless look that meant he was after something. I knew full well what he was after. It thrilled me to my very core.

I kept it on until Spicer decided we'd flaunted it enough. He unclasped it from my neck, touching me as he did so. I watched his reflection standing behind me in the mirror. He was a head above me at least. Well over six feet tall I'd say. His eyes were lowered to my neck. He was a handsome man, even in his middle years. What must he have been in his youth! A heartbreaker, I'm sure.

It was getting harder and harder to contain my feelings for him. The cabin was warm with the heat and smells from four people combined. It was a heady mix of soap, clothes and skin. It was bringing out the animal in me. I struggled to keep a straight face.

But then Spicer turned serious. He sat on the bed contemplating his future. Suddenly he looked ever so vulnerable in his gleaming new shoes. He was trying his best, poor love. He'd come through so much and now his old life was crumbling in front of his eyes. He couldn't go back to Hockley. He didn't want to. He wanted to strike out on his own. But dare I say it, deep down he was frightened.

He reached his hand out to me and I sat with him on the bed. Our legs pressed together. This was getting too much for me. Every cell in my body cried out for this man. It was driving me to do and think things a lady shouldn't. But I didn't care. He'd already seen me at my worst and it hadn't put him off. I was on the homestretch now.

I couldn't wait any longer. I glued my lips to his and ignored his embarrassed shuffling. So what if Rose and Jack were watching! My passions could hardly be contained. Love doesn't care who's looking and I didn't either. He fidgeted but he didn't pull away. He might have flapped his hands a bit, but he definitely kissed me back.

Rose and Jack shuffled around, knowing we needed privacy. Lord knows they craved it themselves on a small ship with nearly two thousand people on it. The three of us ganged up on Spicer and convinced him the best thing was for the two of them to leave. Oh, how he protested. You can't, it's not right, I had a plan, et cetera. But he was being a gentleman. Like when someone politely refuses a cup of tea so as not to put you to any trouble, but in truth they are thirsty as an ox. Well, Spicer was thirsty as an ox and so was I. Our cup of tea was coming.

The children left us in peace. We waited for the door to click shut, and then waited a few polite moments for either of them to come back in case they'd forgotten something. The tension skyrocketed in those few long moments during which I could practically hear Spicer breathing and his heart beating. He was a tiger in the grass, patiently waiting. Or perhaps _I_ was. I only knew I couldn't wait for one of us to pounce.

I suppose I couldn't contain the fire in my eyes because all it took was a second of eye contact and that was it. Our mouths locked hotly together. His hands roamed to places they didn't dare before, fingers plucking at the fabric of my dress. My hands slipped inside his suit jacket. I caressed the strap of his shoulder holster. I pushed the jacket away from his arms and he shrugged it off, discarding it on the floor.

My fingers roamed over the butt of his gun. He clasped his hand over mine and kissed me harder than ever. He was strong- stronger than I'd thought. He opened my mouth wider with just the force of his lips and sucked hungrily on my tongue.

I lay back and pulled him down on top of me. He was struggling to get out of his holster and waistcoat. I tried to assist him, but four hands just made the job more difficult. I laughed breathlessly, letting him sit up again to take off those stubborn items. The holster hit the floor with a thump, the weight of Emily, thankfully not loaded. His vest followed shortly after. He yanked his tie loose with a grunt, and threw it behind him somewhere. He unbuttoned his collar and the first two buttons of his shirt, and left it at that. I suppose he didn't want to give me too much, too soon. He wanted to tease me, and I was more than happy to be teased.

He lay down on top of me and kissing resumed. Oh, but he was a powerful kisser! He nipped, he sucked, he stroked and caressed. He let me come up for air, smiling down at me, flushed with lust. His hair hung down, more blond than grey in the cabin's light. His teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. I playfully bit his chin, feeling faint stubble on the tip of my tongue. His skin was salty. Scratchy but soft. I nibbled all the way along his jaw and clamped my teeth onto his earlobe. He pressed his trousered groin down onto mine. He was hard as a rock. I pushed my hips up to meet him. The layers of fabric between us turned me on no end. God only knows what it was doing to him!

He kissed me again and began to rub my breast. Now, I don't have very big breasts and one of his hands managed to cover it all, but that didn't mean I felt it any less than a more well-endowed woman! My nipple went hard and jutted into his palm. I was beyond all shame. I groaned wantonly. He whispered in my ear. Asked if I liked what he was doing. Did I like it? Good heavens, I was boneless jelly beneath him!

He began kissing my neck, burying his face between my head and the pillow. I hugged him to me, stroking his hair, murmuring encouragement. His cheek scratched mine, I stretched my neck as far as I could to give him more flesh to do as he pleased with. He rubbed his tongue against my pulse point. Stars danced in front of my eyes. I hadn't ever known how good that felt! What other tricks did he know?

I fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, anxious to unclothe him. I got him undone to his waist and then I worked on pulling free his undershirt. As soon as there was a gap, I slipped my fingers under the hem and onto bare skin. He twitched, I felt his stomach muscles go tight. He was a slender man and all movements beneath his skin were very noticeable to me. I didn't care if I was moving too fast. I presumed he would stop me if he didn't like it, but it didn't hurt to ask.

He lifted his head and smiled. Then he sort of hoisted himself up over me on his elbows, cupping the back of my head on the pillow so that it rested in his hands. He had big hands. His thumbs stroked my cheeks as he gazed down into my eyes. The blue of his irises was crystal clear. My hair knotted in his fingers but I didn't care if it hurt or not. my scalp was already tingling, as was the rest of me, all the way down.

My hand was still on his stomach. I dared to move it to his belt buckle where my fingers rested, waiting for his response. There was no mistaking his arousal but that didn't mean I had permission to steam ahead. There were consequences. Always consequences. I wanted to tell him that Steafán hadn't managed to get me pregnant even though he'd produced Michael with Rosemary. But I knew it only took one time. It was a game of roulette.

He asked me if I was sure. I nodded, biting my lip. We briefly discussed the risks. You see how sensible we were? That comes with age. Although words and actions are two very different things and you don't have to be young to make the same mistakes over and over again.

He kissed me again. Long and slow. We undressed. Everything came off, all the way down to our birthday suits. He pulled my dress up over my head and dropped it on top of his clothes on the floor. Same with my undergarments. Layers peeled away under his concentrated gaze. Far from feeling shame or embarrassment, my ardour built up and up with every gentle touch against my flesh. After I was naked he undid his trousers and pulled them off, kicking them across the room along with his underwear and socks.

Spicer was fit for a man in his middle years, if not particularly muscular on the surface. Rather he seemed all bone and sinew, thin but not skeletal, padded where he needed to be, such as his ribcage and abdomen. Neither of us had youthful, taut skin any more. I was approaching my forties and in need of a good meal. But we both glowed, our skin flush with desire for each other. His face and neck were pink and hot beneath my lips. My hand strayed to his groin and closed around his- well, I won't go into crude detail but he was everything I'd hoped, and more. His breath hitched in his chest as I stroked and caressed. He asked me to stop. There was a chuckle in the back of his throat. I knew what he meant. Reluctantly, I let go.

We lay down again. We kissed passionately, hands roving everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. I told him to be careful when his hand went between my legs. 'Now you know how I felt', he laughed, dusting my cheeks with his hot, hot breath. 'You feel magnificent' I said, closing my fingers around him again.

He murmured a very dirty word into my ear. I gasped in shock and delight. 'Spicer Lovejoy, where did you learn language like that?'

'From dirty trollops like you', he replied smoothly. Well! If he'd been anyone else I'd have kicked him out of bed, but instead I wrapped my arms around him and held him in my vice like grip. I told him he was a filthy bugger. He laughed. I expected no other response. He had me more wet and ready than I'd ever been in my life. I opened my legs wide like the dirty trollop he'd called me, and without another word, I guided him to my entrance.

I know he wanted to ask again if I was one hundred percent certain, just to be a gentleman. But the tilt of my hips was more than enough to convince him. He pressed gently. I settled under him, drawing my knees back and tilting higher. He slipped in smoothly, gasping at the ease with which I let him in. He filled me completely, knocking the breath from my lungs. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I blasphemed. 'And all the angels in Heaven'. It had been a long time. A _very_ long time. I had forgotten how wonderful it could be. How intense the fire that burned.

Ever the gentleman, his first few moves were gentle and considerate. He drew in and out, slowly and precisely. It all felt so beautiful. _Exquisite_! There was a storm outside and we rode it, using the ship's motion to fall into a steady rhythm. Before I knew it he was plunging deep. I encouraged him with my legs clasped tight around his waist and fingers digging into his back and shoulders. Perspiration dripped from him and onto me. He clenched his teeth and his neck went ropey with tension. Great veins stood out. I nipped and licked at them. After resisting his urges for so long, he was now pounding me to within an inch of my life.

All of my existence was now gathered at that very spot between my legs. There was nothing else. Everything went out of focus and I squeezed my eyes tight shut. Garbled nonsense spilled from my lips. Spicer was grunting harshly, building to his own crescendo. We were peaking too soon, but neither of us cared. You can't stop the unstoppable until it stops by itself.

I wanted to peak with him. I shifted under his body to increase the friction. He got the message and put his hand there, balancing above me on his other arm. I didn't want the momentum to stop until I felt that first electric shock from his fingers. I'm not ashamed to say I screamed so loud they probably heard me out in the corridor. He brought me to my peak with his fingers and then commenced thrusting into me. I thought I was going to rip apart. I thought my eyeballs would explode. The sensations of ecstasy went all the way through me, blooming outwards from my centre, fizzing into my toes and fingertips. I almost lifted our combined weight off the bed.

Soon after, he gave a loud gasp and I knew he was expelling himself into me. His breath grew ragged and torn, his hips slammed down, pushing himself into me as hard as he could. 'Squeezing the last drops', as they say. I clamped my legs around him and dug my heels into his buttocks. I ground him into me, pressing him against my sweet spot. I peaked again, and couldn't get enough.

Eventually he collapsed on top of me. He was a trembling mass in my arms, his heart thudding against mine. He shook all over. His muscles twitched. He was so hot and damp but I didn't want to push him off. His weight was solid and reassuring. And he was still inside me.

He did roll off me in the end. He rolled to the side and continued breathing hard as he stared up at the ceiling. The ship was still dipping in and out of waves but our storm had quelled. We bumped gently against each other with every pitch and roll. I turned on my side and laid my arm across him. Smiling and satisfied, I ran my finger over his mouth, tracing the contours of his lips. He took my hand and kissed my fingers, then clasped it to his chest. He had some freckles there which I had barely noticed before, a light scattering on each shoulder. It was a delight getting to know this man.

We talked quietly about what had just happened. Pillow talk, I think they call it. When you're comfortable in the moment, as you come down from your high. I remember talking this way with Steafán, in the meadow, while bees buzzed over us and sunlight winked through bright green leaves. I laid my head on Spicer's shoulder and felt his voice reverberate through me like a lullaby. After a while, the urge came upon me to use the commode. As politely as I could, I told Spicer that nature was calling. He gave a deep, throaty chuckle and asked me why I was bothering to be subtle when I'd just spent half an hour with my feet on the ceiling. I climbed over him and smacked his chest for his impudence.

He turned to face the bulkhead while I did my business and cleaned myself up. I washed my hands and rinsed out the commode. I splashed cool water on my face and peered at my reflection. I was redfaced but happy, strands of hair sticking to my face, neck and shoulders. Spicer called over for a glass of water so I poured him one. I was about to return to bed when I thought of something. I went to the closet and stuck my hand into the pocket of Hockley's coat, fingers closing around the diamond. Feeling like a petty thief, I took it out and brought it with me to bed along with Spicer's glass of water. As he sat up to take his drink he saw what I was holding in the other hand. He frowned quizzically.

'I want to wear it,' I told him. 'Just once'.

His eyes widened, then narrowed. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank thirstily until there was nothing left. Water dripped from his chin and coursed down his chest. He asked for a refill so I got him one. He drank it almost as quickly as the first, then set down the glass with just a small amount of water left in it.

He asked for the diamond. I handed it over, thinking he was going to make me put it back. He told me to sit down in front of him with my back facing. I obeyed. He took the diamond and threaded it around my neck while I held my hair out of the way. He fastened it securely. Warned me that we must be very, very careful not to break it. Then he kissed my shoulders with lips cool from the water while his hands snaked around me to my breasts.

It wasn't long before his touch, combined with twenty million dollars twinkling at my throat, started doing things to me. This time the fire smouldered gently instead of sparking off like a firework. It warmed me from the inside out as I liquefied in his arms. I fell back against him, my hair tumbling over his shoulder. He fingered the diamond, turning it this way and that to catch the light. 'I don't know what's more beautiful,' he said. 'You or the diamond.'

Did my ears hear me right? Was Spicer paying me a compliment instead of calling me a wench or a trollop? I was going to make the most of it! I turned around and pushed him back against the pillows. He lay there looking at me, eyes full of anticipation. Little drops of blue danced across his face, the diamond reflected in the light. Some matched his eyes, others glowed marine blue, like the depths of the sea, the heart of the ocean. I bent and kissed his lips and the diamond touched his throat. I commenced kissing him all the way down his body, trailing the diamond over his skin. He clenched his fists around bunches of bedsheet. I hadn't been this bold even with Steafán. It was as if the force of my desire was a living thing making me act.

The diamond tickled his nipples, dipped in and out of his navel. He watched me with eyes half closed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. I nibbled and pulled at his skin with my lips. I caressed him until he was fully hard, and then I mounted him like a horse. He watched himself disappear inside me again. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes almost shut. His hands went to my waist and the diamond bumped against my birdlike chest as I began to rock gently, rubbing my hands over his chest and torso.

The ship climbed over one wave after another, greatly assisting me in my movements. At one point I came down quite hard on poor Spicer, causing him to shake his head and tut. I told him I'd knock ten cents off for that. He laughed and told me I was worth every penny. I leaned down and kissed him, and he lightly slapped my buttocks. After that I began to ride him a little faster, a little more purposefully. He stared at my breasts, admired the bouncing diamond, watched himself and the place where we were joined. I became wanton as I neared my climax, tossing my hair around like a possessed witch. It took no time at all for me to peak since I still hadn't fully come down from the first one. But I kept going while my thighs burned and the fire spread inside me, on and on until Spicer let out a loud groan and pushed himself up, grinding himself into me.

We were both exhausted afterwards. My legs had turned to jelly, my thigh muscles throbbed. I asked after his own legs and feet. He said his toes were a bit sore but otherwise he seemed blissfully happy. The aches and pains would set in later!

Again we snuggled together. I lay down beside him, careful not to get the diamond caught up in my hair or trapped between us in case the chain snapped. His eyes were already closed, his heartbeat beginning to slow. He breathed deeply and steadily, his lips laced with half a smile.

Mercy, my dear reader, I didn't mean to go into such detail when I started this essay. But I need someone to know that I was truly _in love_ with him. I _knew_ it. It didn't matter that we hadn't known each other long. With some people, ye feel you've known them forever. You fall into long forgotten conversations as though taking up just where ye left off in some other afterlife. I had never kissed him but somehow I knew how it would feel. I had never seen him unclothed but somehow I knew every contour of his pale, slender body. And when those moments came, they took me to heights of emotion I'd never felt but somehow understood. There was no shame. No fear. _I knew him_. Even the way he teased me. No one else calls me the names he does and gets away with it!

I'll never forget dear Steafán with his flaxen, shoulder length hair and easy smile. You never forget your first love. But over the years my loss became an obsession. I built Steafán up in my mind so that even if he came back to me he wouldn't be the man I was expecting.

Spicer Lovejoy, the man I _truly_ loved, was always going to be the man I expected. And precisely _because_ of that, every day from here on in was going to be a first.


End file.
